Tuesday, December 02, 2014

Dumbledore Talks To The Sorting Hat

December 2, 2014
A little something I've been fooling around with that I thought you all might enjoy.

Cheers,
Mark Terry

Dumbledore Talks To
The Sorting Hat

By Mark Terry

Professor
Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft & Wizardry,
approached the entrance to his office, which was just down Gargoyle Corridor in
the Headmaster’s Tower. An enormous ugly gargoyle hid the entrance. Under his
arm he carried an ancient, tattered and patched black hat.

“Fizzing
Whizzbees,” he murmured.

The
gargoyle moved aside to reveal a stone staircase guarded by a statue of a
phoenix. The staircase spiraled upward.

Stepping
onto the stairs, Dumbledore rode it upward, gathering his midnight blue robe
around his legs so as not to get caught in the door.

Dumbledore’s
office was a large circular room. Filled with bookcases and books, and a vast
assortment of magical instruments on spindle-legged tables, they twirled and
whirled, creaked and cranked, and puffed small clouds of steam and smoke into
the air. Along the walls hung portraits of previous headmasters. Most of them
were currently asleep, gentle snores filling the room.

Dumbledore
set the hat on the edge of his desk and seated himself behind it in his large
high-backed chair. With a wave of his wand, he conjured a cut-glass goblet of
scotch. Studying the hat, he took a sip.

A slit in
the hat appeared and it spoke. “Ah, Professor Dumbledore. Want a word, do you?”

“You are
very astute,” Dumbledore said with a nod toward the hat.

“Thank you,
sir. I am, although I am but a hat.”

Eyes
twinkling, a small smile twitched at the corners of Dumbledore’s mouth. “I
assume you know what I wish to discuss.”

“Harry
Potter, would be my guess.”

“Yes,
indeed.”

“And his
sorting.”

“You are,
after all, the Sorting Hat.”

Bestowed
with ancient magic by the founders of Hogwarts, Godric Gryffindor, Helga
Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin, the Sorting Hat was able
to peer into the minds and souls of students, recognize their greatest talents
and tendencies, and sorted them into the school’s four houses, based on the
traits the four founders of the schools valued most.

“It was
very difficult. Plenty of courage. Not a bad mind. Talent. And a thirst to
prove himself.”

Peering at
the hat over his glasses, Dumbledore said, “You appeared to have a lengthy
conversation with the boy during his sorting. Usually you make decisions
quickly.”

“Many
choices are obvious.”

“Are they?”
Dumbledore asked idly. “I would not think so. They are, after all, only eleven
years old. Hardly fully formed. Many will change over the course of their years
here at Hogwarts. Their experiences, their friendships, their successes, their
failures … all will mold them into who they will become.”

“Are you
questioning my abilities, Dumbledore?”

“No one,
myself included, completely understands how you do what you do.”

“Magic.
Magic created by four of the greatest magicians who ever existed.”

“Indeed.
So, perhaps, we can discuss Harry Potter.”

One of the
former Headmasters, Phineas Nigellus, in one of the portraits, woke up with a
start and leaned forward to listen closer.

“Of course.
As is your want.”

“Why
Griffindor? Why was it difficult?”

“Why not,
perhaps, Slytherin?” the hat said slyly.

Phineas
Nigellus coughed discreetly.

“Quite
right,” Dumbledore said, taking another sip of scotch. “Directly to the point.”

“I think he
would do very well in Slytherin.”

“Do you?
Then why did you not place him there?”

“Do you
remember your own sorting, Dumbledore?”

“Like it
was yesterday,” Dumbledore said, the tips of his mouth curving slightly upward
in a smile once more.

“Your
intellect is considerable.”

“Thank
you.”

“You are
acting modest about your intellect, Dumbledore, when we both know you are one
of the most brilliant wizards who ever lived.”

“And you’ve
evaluated most of them.”

“I have.
And yet I sorted you into Griffindor. Not Ravenclaw.”

“Ah,” said
Dumbledore. “There is that. Have we not discussed this before?”

“Perhaps,”
the hat said, “you placed that memory in the pensieve and wish to evaluate it
again before we continue our chat?”

“No, no, I
don’t believe so. Go on.” He thought to himself, And somehow the founders gave the Sorting Hat a wry sense of humor. He
wondered which of them introduced that element.

“You
understand, Dumbledore, that the sorting takes into consideration more than
talents and abilities.”

“Just so.”

“Yes. So
although by your intellect, Ravenclaw would have made a great deal of sense, I
was aware of other things battling with your brains, so to speak. Your courage.
Your arrogance—yes, you would have done well in Slytherin at that age, were it
not for your kindness.”

A derisive
cough from the portrait.

“Perhaps,”
Dumbledore said, gaze far off.

“Yes,” the
Hat said. “Would you care to place me on your head and re-sort you?”

“I don’t
believe so, no.”

The Sorting
Hat let out a soft chuckle.“Few would,
ultimately. Their identities often become linked to their House.”

“In fact, I
do mean exactly that, Dumbledore. Part of what the founders—not all of them
certainly, but Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor,
yes—imparted to me is the possibility of seeing how their Houses will influence
the extraordinary gifts they have.” And the Sorting Hat let out another low
chuckle.

“Something
amusing?” Dumbledore asked. He raised the goblet and swallowed half the scotch.
He considered refilling it, but no, it was rather early in the school year for
that.

“I considered
putting you into Hufflepuff to take some of the starch out of that ego of
yours, Dumbledore. Yes, yes. That would have been interesting.”

Dumbledore’s
eyes narrowed.

The Sorting
Hat said, “Never you mind, Dumbledore. You went where you belonged. As did Tom
Riddle.”

Leaning
back in the large chair, Dumbledore tapped his fingers together in front of
him. “And why do you bring up Tom Riddle?”

“You know
quite well why I bring up Tom Riddle,” the Hat said. “Because you wish to
discuss Harry Potter. And it is Tom Riddle who tried to kill him as a baby. And
who was … diverted as a result.”

“And do Tom
Riddle and Harry Potter share other things?”

“I told
Potter he would do well in Slytherin.”

“And yet
you placed him Gryffindor.”

“He was
difficult. Talent and a thirst to prove himself.”

“Common
traits in all our Houses, in many ways.”

“Talent, of
course. Some more than others. That thirst, that ambition, Dumbledore, that
takes many forms. Slytherins, of course, want to dominate.”

“Yes, often
at any costs.”

A grunt
from Phineas Nigellus. Dumbledore ignored the portrait. His clever devices
puffed and twirled and clanked. A quick glance around the room showed
Dumbledore that many more of the former Headmasters in the portraits had awoken
and were listening to the conversation.

“Indeed.
Your ethical mind and your kindness kept you out of Slytherin.”

“I do not
believe so. So Young Mister Potter made the choice to be in Gryffindor.”

“No,” the
Sorting Hat said. “He made the choice not to be in Slytherin. He would not have
been appropriate in either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. He does not have that keen
intellect for Ravenclaw and mark my words, he would not fit in Hufflepuff. He
has a fine mind, certainly, and plenty of ability, but he is not the scholarly
type one expects in Ravenclaw. It was either Slytherin or Gryffindor.”

“And had he
not been insistent on exclusion from Slytherin?”

“Ah. A
toss-up, I believe. He has been abused, Dumbledore. With that kind of neglect
and abuse, he could have gone either way. He could have become a victim or an
abuser, but I do not think he will. No,” the Hat said musingly. “I think we can
expect great things of Mr. Potter. Terrible things, perhaps. He has that potential
in him. But I think not. I think Gryffindor will be best for him.”

“And it was
what he wanted.”

“Great and
courageous.”

Phineas
Nigellus let out a loud, not-quite-believable snore.

“Thank
you,” Dumbledore said. “You have been insightful.”

Dumbledore
reached to take the Sorting Hat off his desk and place it on its shelf, when he
thought, “This question of where to sort students. Do you often run into
students who you strongly feel would go into one House, but for a mix of
reasons choose another?”

“Happened
twice today, Dumbledore. It’s common, but not that common. Malfoy, he was
instantly Slytherin. Weasley, just as easily into Gryffindor.”

“Who was
the questionable student?” Dumbledore asked, curiosity, one of his great
strengths and weaknesses, getting the better of him.

“Hermione
Granger.”

“Indeed.
Her parents are Muggles.”

“Dentists,
I believe. But she has an intellect that would have rivaled yours back in the
day, Dumbledore.”

“And yet…”

“Not
Ravenclaw,” the Hat said. “Yes, I thought she would fit there. But like you,
there was something else…” the Hat trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Sometimes
I hear their voices,” the Sorting Hat said.

“Whose
voices?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward. In all his many discussions with
the Sorting Hat over the years, the Sorting Hat had never mentioned voices.

“The
founders. Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.”

“And you
heard their voices?”

“I heard
Godric Gryffindor speak briefly when I was placed on the Granger girl’s head.”

“And what
did he say?” Dumbledore asked, curious, perplexed, and a little surprised. And
very, very intrigued.

“He said,
‘She is a true Gryffindor.’”

“Interesting.”

“And most
unusual.”

“Was there
more?”

“No,
Dumbledore. That is all.”

“Good night
then.”

“Adieu,”
the Hat said, as Dumbledore flashed his wand, levitating the hat off his desk
and onto its shelf.

Dumbledore
studied the empty goblet for a moment, then twirled his wand. It refilled with
scotch. To Fawkes, his phoenix, Dumbledore said, “What do you think, Fawkes?”